His lips part, and he doesn’t answer immediately. He seems to be choosing his words. “My mother died when I was very young.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Without thinking I place my hand on top of his. He pauses, and I quickly take my hand away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s okay. I’m not offended.” But he stands, gesturing as if it’s time for me to go.
I close the laptop and slide it into my bag, speaking slowly. “I forget sometimes. In my country we’re more open to touch. I miss it… the feeling of connection.”
“Touch therapy is an emerging area of clinical research.” He’s waiting as I gather my things, still remaining aloof.
Standing slowly, I attempt to slide the strap of my bag onto my shoulder. It slips, and he catches it quickly, lifting it onto my shoulder for me. His touch is warm, and I lift my chin, wanting him to show me any confirmation he feels this energy simmering between us.
“I miss my father’s hugs.” My voice is quiet as I speak from my heart. “I scroll on my phone, chat with friends, get advice, but what I miss most is that one simple thing I’ll never have again.”
As I say the words, I ache at how true they are.
His eyes hold mine. Clean citrus touches my nose, and he’s not pushing me away or throwing up walls now. He’s looking into my soul.
“Honestly, I miss my mother’s hugs.” His voice is gentle, as if something shifted.
“You must be lonely… like me.” The words hang in the air, and we’re so close.
Swaying, I hold my breath, dying for him to move, to pull me into his arms and hug me so tightly, something we both want and miss. I know it would be amazing.
Loud voices erupt in the hall, and the spell breaks.
He takes a step back, going to the door and opening it. “I’ll see you in class, Miss Lorak.”
Sharon is gone, and I drop my chin, acknowledging defeat as I softly pass him. “Goodbye, professor.”
He closes the door, and I pull my cardigan even tighter around my body. It’s ridiculous for me to want to cry, but I do.
7
Dirk
Fire is in my veins,and I move fast, switching the lock on the door.
Going to the small bathroom behind the bookcase in my office, I slam the door, quickly lowering my jeans to relieve the pressure.
I scoop up the tube of hand cream beside the soap dish on the small sink. A little lube, and I grasp my hard cock, bracing my other hand on the wall and closing my eyes.
Her taut nipples are at my lips, and I pull them into my mouth, biting and tugging at her breasts as I slide my hands down her back and over her round ass.
In my mind, I stand in front of her, rising to my full height. Her head is at my shoulders, and her eyes flash with defiance. She knows exactly what she’s doing, licking her full lips, studying my crotch.
I place my hands on her shoulders. “Get on your knees.” It’s a hoarse order, fueled by weeks of denial.
She blinks up at me, blue eyes round as she obeys. Her face is at my cock, and her eyes are on mine as she lowers her jaw, extending her tongue flat and placing it at the base of my shaft, dragging it to my tip.
“Fuck,” I groan as orgasm flares hotter in my pelvis.
I’ve pretended to be immune to her, and every day that passes, every day she sits in my class watching me, undressing me with her eyes, I’m in a perpetual state of frustrated desire.
This isn’t happening.
Only it is.
She wraps her lips around my tip, pulling my cock farther into her mouth, and sucking. My hand moves faster, and I grow angrier, rage fueled by need.